


The Holly and the Ivy

by alkjira



Series: Fix-it (!) December [15]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Jealous Bard, King Bard, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Smitten Lindir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir knew that it was an honour to be sent as Lord Elrond’s envoy to the Mirkwood and the city of Dale (possible Erebor as well if the Dwarfs would oblige him) but he could not help but feel that it was some sort of punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not Christmas related but as I'd already used two song titles why not a third. We'll see if I can manage a fourth.

Lindir knew it was an honour to be sent as Lord Elrond’s envoy to the Mirkwood and the city of Dale (possible Erebor as well if the Dwarfs would oblige him) but he could not help but feel that it was some sort of punishment.

This feeling began after one too many days and nights of heavy rain and intensified after meeting King Bard.

Lindir could say many good things about the Man, like how his people admired and loved him, and how Bard’s children did the same, and the speed with which Dale had been rebuilt was indeed admirable, and Lindir believed it would not have happened without a strong leader.

Still, there were problems.  
  
His first meeting with Bard had consisted of almost nothing but problems.

-  
  
It did not come naturally to call someone digging a ditch Your Highness. Especially not when said Majesty wasn’t wearing a shirt. But Lindir rose admirably to the occasion.  
  
(The Man _was_ wearing trousers and Lindir sternly told himself that it was a good thing.)  
  
The Elf bowed. “My Lord Elrond has sent me with his sincere wishes for-“  
  
“Mind doing that while you dig?” Bard asked, brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, nodding towards a spare shovel, and Lindir wasn’t entirely sure _how_ but suddenly he was standing next to Bard in the hole that potentially would be a ditch.  
  
Bard nodded at him and went back to digging. “Carry on.”  
  
Lindir looked a little helplessly at the shovel.  
  
“Pointy end to the ground,” Bard informed him and Lindir’s eyes narrowed.  
  
He shrugged out of his cloak and threw it up to lie on the grass and then rolled up his sleeves.  
  
The soil parted with a satisfactory ease as he put the blade of the shovel to the ground. Probably Dwarven made, Lindir admitted. Fine quality. But that was not what was supposed to occupy his thoughts.  
  
“My Lord Elrond has sent me with his sincere wishes for the commencement of a long-lasting and mutually beneficially arrangement between our two people.”  
  
Bard hummed beneath his breath and nodded and feeling a little cheered by this proof that the man was indeed listening Lindir continued with the rest of the speech he’d rehearsed.  
  
“So to sum it up,” Bard said consideringly once Lindir had fallen silent. “Your Lord wants to be my friend.”  
  
“Friend and ally,” Lindir promised. “To you _and_ your people.”  
  
“There’s only one problem,” Bard said and Lindir looked at him a little anxiously. Had the Dwarfs been spreading untruths about them?  
  
King Thranduil had been remarkably sparse with his words when it came to the Dwarfs of Erebor, and if Lindir had been anyone else he might have picked the word ‘mulish’ to describe the expression on the King’s face when the subject was raised.  
  
“I have no idea who your Lord is,” Bard said and warm green-grey eyes smiled at him. “Elrand was it?”  
  
“Lord Elrond,” Lindir corrected, then flushed a little. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”  
  
“Forgive you because _I_ can’t remember a name?” A dark eyebrow sailed up towards the silver and ebony hairline.  
  
“I- mean no offence.”  
  
“Right,” Bard sighed and Lindir did on no account watch how the thick muscle of his chest rose and fell with his breath.

-  
  
King Bard was what others could only aspire to be. He was kind, fair, strong, hard-working and dedicated… a paragon of most of the virtues that would be listed if one would take the task the construct the perfect regent.

Except for how he only seemed to be dimly aware that he was King in the first place.

  
-  
  
It was on the tip of Lindir’s tongue to protest that a King should _not_ be feeding chickens, but he managed at the last moment to turn it into something more diplomatic.  
  
“Your Highness, is there perhaps no other tasks that would be a better use of your time?” Lindir stared down at the squawking chattering chicks that crowded around Bard’s boots, picking at the grain that fell from his pail.  
  
Bard shrugged. “Cows are already milked and I’ve been banished from the construction work in the event a building decides to collapse on me.” He caught Lindir’s shocked look and interpreted it a little wrongly. “We’re taking all possible precaution to make sure it won’t happen to anyone, I assure you. But I’ve come to realise that some arguments can’t be won and besides,” he flung the contents of the pail onto the ground in a large arch. “Someone has to feed the chickens.”  
  
But it did not have to be the _King_ , Lindir did not say.  
  
-  
  
Even though Bard did not know who Lord Elrond was he had invited Lindir to stay with him and his children in their home.

Not entirely unaccustomed to children as young Estel had been a ward to Lord Elrond for close to a decade, Lindir could not have said to have expected the sheer level of noise coming from three of them.  
  
It did not happen the first night he stayed beneath Bard’s roof, nor the second, but on the third Lindir was left staring blankly into thin air after the three children finally had been successfully commanded to bed by their father, amidst _very_ loud protests.  
  
Bard caught his look and smiled. “I think they’ve decided that you’ve stayed long enough not to be a guest. No need to be on their best behaviour any more. Shame.”  
  
Lindir nodded before he could stop himself and at Bard’s snort the Elf could feel his cheeks heat.  
  
He refused to admit his shame, so instead he held his head high and met Bard’s smiling eyes. “Your children are delightful," he said, perhaps a bit too forcefully.  
  
“I love them more than anything in the world,” Bard agreed. “But there are days I miss being able to threaten to throw them into the toilet unless they started behaving.”  
  
At Lindir’s blank stare Bard merely chuckled and clasped his hand to the Elf’s shoulder. “It matters not.”  
  
-  
  
The feeling of Bard’s hand against his shoulder stayed with Lindir for a long time.  
  
-  
  
The third time Lindir’s request to have an audience with King Thorin was denied Bard took it upon himself to inform the Elf what he was doing wrong.  
  
“Send it to the consort instead,” he advised. “Ask him to come here for a meeting. If he agrees, you’ll get the King too.”  
  
“But it’s not proper protocol,” Lindir protested.  
  
“Was it proper protocol to help me dig a ditch when we first met?”  
  
“If I can assist you in any way it is my pleasure to do so,” Lindir said, chin raised proudly.  
  
Bard chuckled, and something about the sound seemed a little strange, a little strained… and Lindir’s brow furrowed.  
  
“It is the truth,” he swore. “If I have done something to make you believe otherwise I will gladly-“  
  
“No, no,” Bard said, running a hand through his unkempt hair (another thing that set him apart from Lord Elrond, King Thranduil and King Thorin as well, as Lindir well remembered the Dwarf’s neat braids and combed hair). “It’s fine. But I would definitely send a letter to Bilbo. Trust me.”  
  
Lindir felt it was a little unfair thing to say considering that there seemed to be some doubt within Bard when it came to believing _his_ word, but that mattered little as Lindir _did_ trust the Man.  
  
-  
  
The next morning Lindir penned a letter for the Consort Under the Mountain and while it did not earn him a quick response he also did not get a quick declination and Bard politely refrained from any comments and instead spent the day banging on pipes that needed to be straightened.  
  
-  
  
One evening after the three children had gone to bed Lindir dared ask Bard how exactly he had come to be King, expecting to hear the epic tale of how he singlehandedly slew the Dragon Smaug and then fought valiantly against an enemy that seemed impossible to defeat, but that was not anywhere close to the reply Lindir did receive.

“I never asked to be king, and certainly no one asked _me_ or I’d have turned them down immediately, but-“ Bard snorted. “It was as if from one day to the next everyone had decided that they needed a king and that I was supposed to accept that unless I wanted to find a new place to live. Correcting everyone who called me that quickly grew tiresome.” The Man shrugged. “And considering that I had no desire to search for a new home so soon after losing my last…" He spread his hands to indicate how he'd ended up. "I’m expecting people to come to their senses any day now.”  
  
Lindir was well aware that staring was rude and that he’d been doing entirely too much of it lately but it could not be helped.  
  
And the King of Dale, sitting with one leg curled up beneath himself on an armchair that had seen better days, met his eyes and smiled as if sharing a private joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There needs to be another chapter because I want to try and see if I can get these two into bed. All in favour say 'Aye!'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely response for the first part! There's something special about these two right?

Bard was the King who genuinely seemed not want to be King, and as far as Lindir could judge it was not false pride nor a way to try and shirk responsibility, no, not at all.  
  
Not only did Bard spend long hours trying to find ways to improve the life of everyone in his care, from his children to the rest of the Men living in Dale, he also devoted a lot of time convincing said people that there were plenty of _other_ people who could do just as a fine a job. And he seemed to honestly believe he was right to hold that opinion.  
  
There had been two town meetings during the time Lindir had stayed with Bard and his children; waiting for King Thorin to finally decide that he had time to meet with him, and during the second meeting Lindir had been invited to listen in. He’d been able to observe Bard as he argued, seemingly not for the first time, for there to be a council instituted to assist him in his role as a King, unless the good people of Dale felt like perhaps it was time to do away with the concept of Kings all together?

The good people of Dale did _not_ feel that time had come, but the concept of a council was eventually accepted and it was decided that elections would be held later that autumn.

“Finally,” Bard sighed as he and Lindir left the meeting to return ho- to Bard’s residence. “Though I fear it’ll take a little longer than I thought for them to realise that a King is very much a poor substitute for a Master.”  
  
Lindir did not know if his opinion on the matter would be appreciated so he held his tongue, instead offering a noncommittal hum to show that he was still paying attention. It usually worked with Lord Elrond. Lord Elrond _certainly_ did not answer by giving him an exasperated look and nudging their shoulders together.  
  
“Spit it out,” Bard demanded, not impolite, but not polite either. Few, if any, things involving spitting were polite.

“It’s nothing,” Lindir murmured, fingers twitching at his side as they wished to travel up and touch his shoulder where it had been pressed to Bard's. Perhaps even to _linger_ , and that could not be permitted.  
  
“Opinions are never nothing,” Bard objected. “And don’t tell me you don't have an opinion because I won’t believe that.”  
  
“I would never lie,” Lindir protested, looking aghast at Bard. His alarm grew as Bard’s mouth twitched in amusement. “I swear to you, I would not.”  
  
“Then you think that your opinion will be nothing to me?” Bard asked, a dark eyebrow being raised in challenge. “You’d be wrong about that. So let me have your thoughts.”  
  
Lindir looked around. “Here, in the _streets_?”  
  
He could not understand why that would prompt an outburst of laughter, much less one with a strained note to it.  
  
When he offered his opinion to Lord Elrond he always did so in private.  It was not _proper_ to have discussions in public, no one had asked to listen to them in the first place, and in case the subject turned sensitive it was definitely not suited to talk about it on the street.  
  
“We can wait until we’re home,” Bard agreed, lips curving beneath his moustache. “Though if the children are home from school I do not know how much privacy my roof will offer us.”  
  
“I can be quiet,” Lindir promised, and again, he did not understand why it prompted a fit of laughter.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Bard apologised once he could speak once more. “I am honestly not laughing at you, I swear. I fear I’m laughing at myself.” He blinked a few times and brushed a stray tear of mirth from beneath his eye. There was still a great deal of merriment hiding in those green-grey eyes, but Lindir truly did not feel as if it was to his own detriment.  
  
Looking into Bard’s eyes Lindir became aware that the two of them were standing close enough together that he could see the few freckles that dotted Bard’s skin sun-tanned skin. There weren't a lot of them. The freckles were solitary little things, like the first stars appearing to mark the sky after sunset.  
  
Clearing his throat Lindir took a small step backwards and bowed his head. “As you say.”  
  
When he glanced up Bard looked a lot more weary than he’d done a few moments ago. “Truly I meant no insult,” the Man said.  
  
“And I am not insulted,” Lindir assured.  
  
Bard did not look convinced, and at this Lindir _did_ take some insult. Glancing away he busied himself straightening the already straight hems of his robes.  
  
When Bard touched his arm Lindir told himself that it would have been rude to pull away, he also told himself that it was the only reason as to why he did not pull away.

“Truly,” Bard repeated. “I do not want you to think that I mean to slight you. I value your opinions very highly.”  
  
“We’re still in the streets,” Lindir protested between two of Bard’s breaths, because it seemed that the Man was intent to continue with his apologies. Men appeared to have a strange concept of privacy.

A frown darkened Bard’s brow. “I am not afraid to let people know I have something to apologise for. If your Lord can only do so between four walls then I would like you to know I am _nothing_ like him.”  
  
And while Lindir was still trying to understand what he’d said to cause upset Bard stalked away, shoulders drawn and his stride fast and angry.

-  
  
Not wanting to disturb Bard further Lindir took a walk around the markets before returning to the house, but it seemed as if it had not been necessary to avoid the house to avoid Bard.  
  
“Hey Lindir, where’s Da’?” Bain asked as Lindir walked into the kitchen.  
  
“I do not know,” Lindir admitted and inclined his head in greeting. “We parted after the town meeting. May I assist you?” he asked, looking at Bain stirring the stew which was simmering by the fire.  
  
“Nah, it’s almost done,” Bain shrugged. “And it’s not _my_ turn setting the _table_!” he added in a much louder voice, turning his head towards the doorway leading to the combined dining and common room.  
  
“But we’re reading a book!” Sigrid called. “And Da’ always says it’s important to read.”  
  
“And it’s at a really good part!” Tilda added.  
  
“I would be happy to-“ Lindir began.  
  
“If you don’t come and do it now Lindir will do it for you!” Bain shouted.

After a few moments of silence Lindir could hear the rustling of clothes, a book being carefully put away, and then Sigrid and Tilda trotted into the kitchen.

Sigrid looked down at her little brother and huffed. “Unfair.”  
  
“Really,” Lindir said. “I do not mind-“  
  
“It’s not your job,” Tilda said and sighed as she collected knives and forks.  
  
“But nor is it your brother’s?" Lindir said, trying to understand the difference.  
  
“ _Sometimes_ it’s his job,” Sigrid grumped as she reached over her sister for the plates.  
  
“But Lindir is right,” Bain said smugly. “If you cook you don’t need to set the table. And not do the dishes either.”  
  
“I’m not _allowed_ to cook,” Tilda argued. “How is that fair?”  
  
“When you’re tall enough not to fall into the pot you can cook,” Bain smirked. He looked over at Lindir. “Did Da’ say when he was coming home? It is really time to eat soon.”

“I’m afraid he did not,” Lindir said and shook his head. “But I’m sure he’ll not be long.”  
  
“Did someone cause a fuss at the meeting?” Sigrid asked as she returned from delivering the plates to the dinging room. “Or well, more than usual?”  
  
“They accepted his proposal to elect a council.” Lindir hesitated. “I think it pleased him.”  
  
“Considering how long he’s been trying to talk them into it I’m not surprised,” Bain murmured. He knocked the ladle against the pot. “Right, this is done.”  
  
“You’ve not even tasted it,” Sigrid objected.  
  
“I don’t need to taste it,” Bain said. “Some of us are just good at cooking. Go get water.”  
  
Sigrid’s eyes narrowed but before she had to chance to reply, or before Lindir had the chance to offer to go to the well, Bard walked into the kitchen holding a filled pail of water.  
  
“Could someone get me the jug?” he asked. “That smells very good, Bain.”  
  
The boy shot a smug look at his sister.  
  
“Like smelling nice will help if the meat is still raw,” she muttered, but she brought the jug for Bard to pour the water into as Tilda returned with hands empty of cutlery.  
  
“I’m sure that if your brother wanted to poison us he’d do it with more finesse,” Bard said and pressed a kiss to the top Sigrid’s head before gently running his fingers through Tilda's hair.  
  
As the children disappeared into the dining room - Sigrid carrying the pitcher, Bain a large bowl of stew, and Tilda with five mugs pressed to her chest - Bard met Lindir’s eyes.

“May I apologise now?” Bard said and Lindir’s eyes flickered to the doorway leading to the dinging room.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lindir replied, voice slightly louder than strictly necessary. He did not want the children to think he and their father were at odds, especially since they weren’t. Or he hoped they weren’t.  
  
“I did not-“ Bard began, taking a step towards Lindir, the sheepish look on his face a stark contrast to the one he’d been wearing before.  
  
“Lindir, could Da’ apologise after dinner?” Bain called. “Or can we start without you? Because I’m hungry!”

“There is nothing to apologise for,” Lindir repeated.

“Great, then he can continue with that after dinner!”

“Bain,” Bard warned.

“What? I’m still growing, and it’s time for dinner,” Bain whined. “And we won’t even have supper afterwards like Bilbo say that Hobbits have.”  
  
Bard sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Could we talk afterwards?” he murmured, meeting Lindir’s eyes.  
  
“Of course,” Lindir said. “But there’s _really_ no need to apologise.”  
  
“I would still like to hear your thoughts from before,” Bard said and shrugged one shoulder. “But let’s join the children before they devour all the food.”  
  
Lindir nodded and expected Bard to move towards the dining room, but instead the Man gestured for Lindir to go first. As the he walked past him, Bard reached out, but paused just before he would have touched Lindir's arm.  
  
Lindir tried to tell himself that he was not disappointed.  
  
“Can I apologise for storming off at least?”  
  
“You can have my things after I starved to death,” Bain told one or both of his sisters, and some of the seriousness on Bard’s face fell away.  
  
“I forgive you,” Lindir said hastily, daring to touch his fingers to Bard’s arm.  
  
“Truly?”  
  
The Elf nodded and met Bard’s wide grin with a small smile of his own.  
  
-  
  
After dinner Lindir offered to clean, an offer that Sigrid and Tilda immediately declined.  
  
“I should do it,” Bard said and pushed back from the table. “As I did not help with any of the preparation.”  
  
Lindir knew it was childish at best, ill-advised at worst, but a part of him was disappointed over not being allowed to take part in the common chores of the household. That he was not included made it all too clear that he was indeed not really part of the little family.  
  
Which of course was natural. And as things should be.  
  
Bard had had no reason to offer him to stay with them in the first place. Except for being kind and having a spare room. And Lindir’s reasons for coming; Lord Elrond’s reasons for sending him, had nothing to do with the way something fluttered inside his chest when Bard smiled at him.  
  
Lost in thought the Elf did not see the look Sigrid and Bain exchanged.  
  
“I’ll do it, Da’,” Sigrid said. “You and Lindir had something to talk about, didn’t you?”  
  
“I’ll get the water,” Bain offered, narrowing his eyes at Tilda in warning when she looked at him with something close to shock.

“But-“ the youngest of the children protested. “Before, you said- you cooked and-“  
  
“You’re on scrubbing duty,” Sigrid interrupted, getting up from the table and pulling her sister with her.  
  
Quick as an arrow’s flight the children and the dirty dishes had emptied the dining room, leaving Lindir and Bard alone at the table, listening to the soft sounds of sibling squabbling coming from the kitchen.

Bard laughed softly. “Sometime I think I’ve succeeded a little too well in raising my children.”  
  
Lindir tilted his head in confusion and Bard waved his hand in dismissal, then moved to gesture at the room surrounding them. “Four walls and a roof. And no children. Everything propriety could ask for. Well, except for a door I suppose,” he added, looking at the empty doorway leading into the kitchen  
  
"So,” Bard continued, turning his attention back to Lindir. “I said that a King of Dale is not something that should replace the Master of Lake-town, and you did not agree?”  
  
“I do not _disagree_ ,” Lindir tried and Bard snorted.  
  
“Right, we have established that you don’t agree.” Resting his palms flat on the table Bard leaned a little closer to Lindir. “I know you have not had the displeasure of meeting him, but trust me when I say that I can’t understand why someone would want a King after _finally_ being rid of the Master and his guards.”

“But you are a good King,” Lindir argued and Bard shook his head.  
  
“If that matters, would your suggestion be that I’d begin the beatings and see if that would teach them a lesson when it comes to Kings?”  
  
“Of course not," Lindir protested.  
  
“But I _could_ do that,” Bard said, leaning back in his chair. “They have given me the power to do some really bad things and that scares me.” The Man glanced back to the kitchen. “People followed me when I went to the Dwarfs for help. People followed me to fight against Orcs, knowing that they might die. They followed me because _I_ thought those things were the right things to do. And admittedly they followed me before I was King. But the next time? Will they follow me because they agree with me, or because they agree that you need to _obey_ your King?”  
  
Bard shook his head and sighed. “Faith can be just as dangerous as armed guards. Who’s to say I even know what the right thing is to begin with.”  
  
“Your people,” Lindir said simply. “They _have_ chosen you to lead them.”  
  
“Because I slayed a Dragon and did not want to see my children starve to death come winter,” Bard said grimly. “Or get killed by Orcs.”  
  
“If it was only your children, why did you not leave the others to fight for themselves? Why did you lead them to Erebor instead of asking the Dwarfs to just shelter the four of you? Why did you keep fighting instead of running away?”

Bard’s face grew shuttered. “Because I am a _fool_. I risked the lives of my children because I could not bear the thought that the others might die if I left them.” His mouth twisted. “Left them with Alfrid. Though I expect the threat to hang him would have been carried out before he could cause any real damage.”

“The survival of others is one of the burdens a Lord has to carry,” Lindir said, leaving the subject of this Alfrid person aside for the time being as he’d not heard that name mentioned before. “Equal to the burdens of a King. Your ancestor, Lord Girion-“  
  
“Was Lord of Dale, indeed,” Bard agreed, briefly reaching out to touch Lindir’s arm as an apology for interrupting him. “A Lord is not a King. But I do not have a wish to be titled Lord either.”

They were both a little startled when Sigrid popped her head into the dining room.  
  
“We’ll be outside. Just so you know.”  
  
“Tell them they’re loud,” Tilda hissed in the background.  
  
“ _You_ ’ _re_ loud,” Bain hissed back.  
  
Lindir did not know if Bard had heard his two youngest children, but he could feel the heat blossom on his own cheeks. And what if Sigrid had arrived just a little earlier and seen Bard reach out for him? What might she had thought of them if she had seen that?

“I should not be King,” Bard sighed after a few moments’ silence had hung around them. “What do I know about being a King?”

“Three times you’ve fought for your people’s survival,” Lindir said. “The short time I’ve been here I’ve seen you work tirelessly to make things better for them. To ensure that they not only remain alive, but also that they might _live_.”

The Elf could feel the weight of Bard’s gaze on him, and he held his head high as he concluded his point. “If all Kings and all Lords, and Masters, were that devoted then the world would be a better place.”  
  
“But they aren’t,” Bard said tiredly. “And people can change. I might end up being just as twisted as the Master or as Alfrid, and what then?”  
  
“Your people might threaten to hang you?” Lindir said without thinking, and when he caught himself he wanted to sink into the floor. “My apologies, I should not have-“  
  
“No, no,” Bard said. “You should have.” A small smile played around the edges of his mouth. “In a way that’s actually comforting.”  
  
“I’m very sorry,” Lindir said and looked down. “And I would like to apologise about what happened earlier as well.”  
  
“Earlier?” Bard repeated.

Lindir hesitated for a moment. “I must have said something that upset you, when you left.”  
  
The silence that now settled over the room felt heavy upon Lindir’s shoulders and he did not look up from his study of the sturdy wooden table.

“I was jealous before.”

“Jealous?” Lindir repeated the word, but he did not understand why Bard would use it.

“Of your _Lord_ ,” Bard scoffed. “Angry with him too.”  
  
“ _Why_ would you be angry with Lord Elrond?” Lindir asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.  
  
Again a frown settled on Bard’s face. “Because he’s so wonderful is he? Sending you across the world, making you concern yourself with who overhears an apology. Though I guess you should be grateful there _is_ an apology. Considering how you’re constantly apologising for things that is not your-“  
  
“Bard!” Lindir interrupted. “I do not understand how you've arrived to this conclusion, but you’re entirely mistaken. Lord Elrond is not-“

“See, even _now_ you’re defending him,” Bard said darkly.  
  
“He is my-“  
  
“He does not deserve you!” Bard rose to his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor. Lindir immediately rose as well, a little alarmed by what was happening even if he tried not to show it.  
  
Walking around the table Bard stopped in front of him, mouth opening and closing as if he was about to speak, but no sounds managed to make it out from his throat.  
  
“When Lord Elrond scolds me-“ Lindir shook his head to try and ward off the way Bard’s visage darkened further. “When he does it is because he thinks I’m too formal. _Too_ concerned with what is proper. He’s not making me do anything.”

“He made you travel here,” Bard growled. “Don’t tell me you volunteered.”  
  
“He asked me to act as his representative,” Lindir replied. “And I could have declined that honour-“  
  
“ _Honour_!”  
  
“-but I did not, and I am _glad_ I didn’t. I’m glad I came here.”

“You- are?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
This time when the silence stretched it did not feel as heavy as before, but it made something beneath Lindir’s skin squirm restlessly. He did not know what to say. But he knew what he wanted to say.

“You said you were… jealous.” The words were tentative, slow, but Lindir did not look away from Bard as he let them fall from his lips. Jealous. It could not mean what he wanted it to mean.  
  
“Yes. I did.” Bard inhaled deeply and let it out in a exhalation that was close to being a groan. “You’re... _fond_ of your Lord Elrond. You care for him.”  
  
“Yes?” Lindir knew he must seem simple minded, but he did not _understand_. “I don’t-“  
  
“That’s why I was, _am_ , jealous,” Bard said and Lindir still didn’t understand.

“Lord Elrond is my friend.” Hesitating for a moment Lindir gathered all his bravery and continued. “I hope- No, I _do_ consider you amongst my friends as well. You have been very kind to me, and I’ve greatly appreciated being allowed to get to know you, and the privilege of being offered to stay beneath your roof.”

Taking a deep breath of his own Lindir proceeded to ignore all sorts of protocol and notions of propriety. Reaching out he hooked his index and middle fingers with Bard’s.  
  
Lindir's cheeks now felt as if they were flaming.  
  
“A friend,” Bard said slowly and looked down at their tangled fingers. “Friends do this?”  
  
“Some friends do.” Lindir swallowed. “But it’s not common, no.”  
  
“I see,” Bard said, rubbing his thumb over the outside of Lindir’s fingers. “And do friends do this?”  
  
Slowly he leaned in, stretching little to close the small difference in height, and in the next moment warm lips were pressed against Lindir’s.

Much too soon they were gone and Lindir moaned low in his throat in protest, eyes that he'd not realised had been closed fluttered open.  
  
“Is _that_ something friends do?” Bard asked again, voice strained.  
  
“No,” Lindir breathed, looking between Bard’s dark eyes and his mouth.  
  
“Good,” Bard said gruffly before leaning in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that there's still not a bed in this story.
> 
> Fear not, because you might also have noticed that this is part of a series now. (rejoice!)
> 
> And for those of you who have followed my writing for a bit, fear not, lol. I won't leave you hanging. The next part is already done and will be posted in just a bit. ;) No WIP this time. I'm just rereading it to check for glaring errors.
> 
> lol, also, and everyone should have a Lindir to threaten your siblings/kids with. Do your chores or he'll do them for you, and having him pick up your slack feels like you're being mean to something small and fluffy.

**Author's Note:**

> Lindir is my baby.


End file.
